


This One's For You

by justcallme_ryan



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-15 21:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18080993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justcallme_ryan/pseuds/justcallme_ryan
Summary: A poorly written gay romance.





	1. Give It Time

Continuing the tour was worse than Brendon had previously thought. It was his turn to eat breakfast–yes, they had established times, it seemed they had to after a while–when Spencer came out and sat beside him, stealing a bite of his bagel.

“Hey!” Brendon snatched it out of his hand and smacked the side of his head. Spencer laughed, and tiredly ran a hand through his hair.

“God, sharing a bed with Ryan is awful,” Spencer sighed. He rubbed his palm over his face. “He kicked me out of the bed twice and didn’t wake up either time.”

“I’m sorry,” Brendon said guiltily. He glanced up at the clock and saw he had two minutes left. “Shit, dude, I guess I’ll have to finish this in my room.”

“You can stay, you know,” Spencer told him. “Neither of you are prisoners, you can both roam the bus freely.”

“Give it time, Spence,” Brendon replied. “Maybe soon, but not yet.”

“Okay,” Spencer sighed. Brendon made his way to the back of the bus and opened the door to his room. It had changed since he was in it last. Shirts from the floor had been taken back, photos from his desk had disappeared, and the two guitars in the corner were gone.

He had paid for one of those guitars, but he wasn’t in the mood to try to take it back. He would just buy a new one.

He thought back to what Spencer had said minutes before. Ryan had never kicked him out of the bed. They’d curl up together in the middle, and sure, he’d move around sometimes on top of him, but Brendon was never pushed off.

It was all different now. All so strange. And Brendon found it hard to sleep alone in a bed still scented like the one he once shared it with.

 

Ten more shows until they were finished, nine after that night. Brendon did his best not to look to stage left when he came out. He did his best to ignore the way Ryan’s voice sounded during Northern Downpour, did his best to shove aside the memories of R yan scribbling down the lyrics while wrapped in his arms, humming the tune to himself. How the early evening sun casted a crimson glow into the room they were in that night, and how in the middle of writing, Ryan had paused a moment simply to stare up into Brendon’s eyes and smile.

He did his best not to let his voice sound heartbroken as they jumped into When The Day Met The Night. He did his best not to stare at Ryan getting out of the dressing room shower at the show. He did his best not to jump back when they accidentally brushed shoulders on the way back into the tour bus.

Brendon waited in the kitchen, sipping a beer, until all the lights in the bus turned off. He slipped out the door afterwards, beer in hand, and made his way to the nearest bar.

When the girl he met asked if he wanted to go back to her place, he shook his head. He’d bring her to the tour bus. He’d let Ryan wake up to her moans through the wall, let him know exactly what he’d lost the day he said it was just for publicity.

 

“What the hell, Brendon?”

Brendon sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes, to see an angry Ryan marching into his room. Brendon grimaced at the light and fell back into his pillows, grunting.

“Have the nerve to be jealous now, Ross?”

“I don’t give a shit who you sleep with, as long as you aren’t keeping me awake all night and then leaving me to pick up your mess in the morning.”

“She stayed?”

“Yes, she stayed, and I found her wandering the kitchen half dressed looking for food.”

“Well, did you feed our guest?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Ryan fumed, throwing a shirt from the floor at his head. “Fucking clean up your room and wash the sheets, and next time be up early enough to take care of your hookup yourself.”

Brendon sighed as his door was slammed, wincing at the sound. His head fucking ached, and he turned to his bedside to down every bottle of water available. Liquor was the devil, but also a breakup’s best friend. After some time, there was a gentle knock at his door before it opened.

“Hey,” Spencer said, entering the room. Brendon looked up to see him holding a bowl and large glass of water. “We leave in a couple minutes. Drink up, it’ll help your head.”

“How did he react?” Brendon asked, softly, as he took the food and drink offered to him. Spencer sighed.

“Tell me you didn’t do that just to piss him off.”

“He was pissed?”

“No, Brendon, he started fucking crying,” Spencer exclaimed. “So I swear to God, if you did that just to hurt him, _I’ll_ be pissed.”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with it,” Brendon replied. “It won’t happen again.”

“Don’t promise me shit you won’t keep,” Spencer grumbled. Brendon knew he was right. There was a pause. “It’s fine, he’ll get over it.”

“It’s his fault, he has nothing to get over.”

“He has plenty to get over too, Brendon, but I know you’re just as hurt as he is. Try not to make it hell for all of us though, okay?”

“Alright.”

“Eat up,” Spencer told him, patting his knee. The bus kicked into motion, and Spencer stood just after. “Drink as much as you can. And shower, you smell like shit.”

“Thanks,” Brendon said, rolling his eyes.

“You needed to hear it from someone,” Spencer called back to him before closing the door.


	2. A Chance Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More poorly written gay shit.

Ryan left at the end of the tour. It wasn’t officially announced until spring. Jon went with him, it seemed he thought Brendon was an asshole for letting any of it happen. Spence stayed, though, but not for long. It had gotten to a point where he simply didn’t want to get better, and Brendon told him to either go to rehab or leave.

He left.

Three years later, Brendon was still there. Two solo albums in, and he wasn’t doing too bad. After the release of the third, he gained many new fans, but the criticism from the old ones kept getting to him.

_You need Ryan Ross. What happened to the genius lyricism? You need Ryan Ross. We need Ryan Ross back. Ryan. Ryan. Ryan._

Brendon couldn’t stop scrolling through the fan accounts. It wasn’t a bad album, he had made his breakthrough to mainstream radio with it, but so many people weren’t happy with it, ones who had been there since the beginning.

He ended up staring at Ryan’s contact in his phone. He didn’t even know if the number was still accurate. He hadn’t talked to him since the day he left, even then with no more than a few words.

Brendon supposed it was a chance thing. Either the number would still be correct and it’d go through, or some poor guy would get a random text. It was up to fate.

‘Hey Ryan, it’s Brendon. I know we haven’t talked in a long time, but I was wondering if you’re still into song writing, and if you’d maybe like to collab on some stuff. Call me some time.’

He stared at it a long time before he sent it, but eventually he did.

 

His message had been seen an hour after it sent, but he got nothing in reply. A week later, out of nowhere, a call came in. Brendon’s heart quickened at the name. He slowly swiped right on the accept button as his anxiety began to take over, but he managed out a scared, “Hello?”

“Bren?” Brendon choked on the nickname. “Sorry, I bet no one calls you that anymore.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Brendon assured him. “Um, how have you been?”

“Alright,” Ryan replied. “You?”

“Fine. Where are you living now?”

“Southern Nevada, just outside of Vegas.”

“You moved back home, then.”

“Yeah, I thought Spencer would have told you.”

“We… avoided the subject,” Brendon said. “Have you talked to him recently?”

“Yeah, he’s doing pretty good. You did the right thing, it caused him to get his shit together.”

“Good.” There was a moment of silence. “Have you seen fan’s response to the album?”

“Yeah,” Ryan chuckled. “It’s a good album, Bren, don’t be discouraged by it.”

“But they miss you,” Brendon told him. “I think it’d be cool to do a combined album, you know? For old time’s sake.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Why don’t you come over some time? We can talk about it more.”

“That’s a long drive, I dunno if my girlfriend-”

“Girlfriend?” Brendon asked.

“Yeah, Chelsea. She’s cool, I think you’d like her.”

“I’m sure I would,” Brendon replied, pushing aside any past anger. “She can come too, if you want.”

“I’m not so sure that’d be a great idea,” Ryan said skeptically. “How does this weekend work? I’m free on Saturday.”

“Great,” Brendon said.

“I’ll see you then, Bren,” Ryan said. There was some shuffling, and then he hung up.

He had a girlfriend. It had been years, Brendon shouldn’t have cared at that point, but maybe Ryan had been telling the truth. All the time together, all the closeness and stage kissing and nights together, was just friendship. The public acts were simply for press coverage. For attention. They were never truly dating, Ryan was straight.

 

Brendon jumped at the knock at his door, even though he expected it. He’d be lying if he said his hand wasn’t shaking as he opened it. He immediately studied the face put before him–he had changed, quite a lot, actually, but his eyes were still the same.

Lyrics flashed through his head of a song written about him once. He hated to admit that he could still see the stars through his deep irises, and he could just as easily get lost in them as he used to.

“Come on in,” Brendon smiled, opening the door wider. Ryan took a step forward, looking around the apartment. His eyes stopped at a picture on the wall of the four original members in high school.

“That was taken at Karissa’s party,” Ryan grinned. “Our first real gig.”

“I kissed her once, before that. I think that’s why she let us do it.”

“I kissed her after.”

“Really?” Brendon laughed. “Well, if we’re being honest, I might have kissed her brother as well.” They both laughed for a minute, and then fell into an awkward nothingness. “Sit down, I’ll grab us some drinks. What do you want?”

“A beer would be nice,” Ryan admitted. Brendon silently agreed as he went into the kitchen to fetch two. He didn’t think he could do this without some alcohol in his system. When he returned to the living room, he spent a ridiculous amount of time debating if he should sit beside Ryan on the couch or in the chair across from him. Eventually he determined that the chair was safer, and handed Ryan his beer before easing down before him.

“So, how’ve you been?” Brendon asked. “You have a girlfriend now, that’s exciting.”

“Yeah, yeah she’s really great,” Ryan replied. “I was really sorry to hear about Sarah.”

Brendon took in a breath at her name, and exhaled slowly. “It’s fine, I should have seen it coming.”

“No one would have seen that coming, don’t feel bad,” Ryan assured him. Brendon offered a small smile.

“So,” Brendon started, then thought for a moment and realized he had nothing to say.

“So,” Ryan prompted. Silence for one, two, three, and then, “Are we going to talk about what happened?”

Brendon nearly jumped in his seat. He had never expected Ryan to ask first. “What do you mean?”

“Between us.”

“I don’t know, are you ready to admit it now?”

“It’s been almost ten years, Bren,” Ryan sighed. “The world has changed a lot, and I’ve changed with it.”

“I swear to God, if you’re going to fucking say you were always straight-”

“I loved you.”

“You… what?” He used to tell Brendon this all the time, it used to be a fact held deep inside Brendon’s heart, but after what happened, he had convinced himself it was never true.

“I loved you, Brendon, and I’m sorry I couldn’t do it then. Things were a lot different ten years ago, it was still illegal then, technically, and I wouldn’t have been able to handle my family abandoning me, and there was so much bad attached to it that I freaked during the interview. I told them all the stage kissing was for publicity, and then I tried to convince myself that it was the truth, too. That all of it was just an act.”

“You broke me,” Brendon whispered. He didn’t mean to, but it slipped out.

“I broke myself, too, and I broke the band. You have no idea how guilty I’ve felt because of that.”

“You could have come back, we could have fixed it.”

“Well, it’s too late now, right?” Ryan said, smiling slightly. “It’s all over now. I’m glad we talked about it though. Now we can move on to song writing?”

“Yeah. Song writing.” Brendon stood. “Let me go grab some paper.” When he left the room, he took much longer than he needed to, frozen as an old scar on his heart was ripped open and bleeding out before him. He had hoped that Ryan would come over, and the candle that once burnt would be crumpled to dust. But of course, it still stood, and the wax was every bit as wet as when it was first blown out. By the time Brendon came back out with paper and pens, a smile was plastered on his face, and he was armed with a joke as he entered the room, covering any pain he still felt inside.


	3. Don't Give Me Those Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woah!!! More bad gay shit!!! Who would've guessed

Brendon had a meeting with his manager the following Tuesday, and he brought the scraps of lyrics with him to present. It was fair to say that Zach was pleased with the drafts, muttering something about, “Anything is better than fucking Beyonce and lemonade.”

Brendon did his best not to be offended, but also couldn’t say much in his own defense.

He texted Ryan when he got out of the meeting with an update on how it went, and Ryan replied with a demo of a guitar riff and mumbled lyrics. Ryan got an enthusiastic “ _shit bro_ ” back.

Brendon called him Wednesday with a verse to go with a refrain they put together, and Ryan called back Friday with a completely new song, along with a rough guitar pattern. In the middle of playing, though, he quickly hung up with a muttered, “I have to go.” Brendon texted a few times, but didn’t get a response until later that night.

They had decided to meet again on Saturday, this time at a coffee shop in between Vegas and LA. Ryan was already seated when Brendon arrived, and he decided to go greet him before ordering. He looked Ryan over as he approached, and something seemed almost off.

“Hey,” Brendon said, causing Ryan to break out of his daze. He smiled when he saw Brendon

“Hey, come sit down. I hope you like window seats.”

“My favorite.” Brendon glanced out at the street momentarily and then turned back to Ryan. When he sat down, the new lighting made what he had noticed stand out–the right side of his face looked powdered, almost like the donuts being sold at the front of the shop. “Are you wearing makeup?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ryan replied, slightly surprised.

“You’re shit at it, it’s caked.”

“It is?” he asked, pulling out his phone to check. Brendon chuckled.

“Why just concealer? You might as well add eyeliner or something.”

“Guess I didn’t feel like it,” Ryan replied. Brendon frowned as he looked back at it.

“You’re covering something. You only have it on that spot.”

“Yeah… I wasn’t going to mention it, but I got mugged yesterday. Nothing too bad, didn’t have much on me, but they got in a good punch to be sure.”

“What area were you in?”

“I had to go into the city for a gig, got dragged into an ally afterwards. It was dark out.”

“Yikes,” Brendon responded. “That’s shit, man.”

“Yeah, it is,” Ryan agreed. “Coffee?”

“Hell yes.” They stood and went to the front of the shop to wait in line. When their hands brushed from being too close, Brendon blushed and took a step to the side. Ryan’s ears turned red, showing he was blushing as well, but he pretended he didn’t notice. Brendon let Ryan order first, and was slightly surprised when he ordered for both of them, and even more surprised that he knew his order. When Ryan pulled out his wallet, Brendon shoved him aside and slid his card into the machine. Ryan hit his arm, and Brendon simply smirked.

They walked back to their table with drinks in hand. They sat across from one another again, and Brendon pulled out a notebook from his backpack.

“I think you should come to the studio with me Wednesday,” Brendon told him. “We already have a couple songs we could make demos of, and we could work on the others too.”

“I don’t know if I can, I have work,” Ryan said.

“It can be any time that works for you, I can push it back as far as eight.”

“It’s a long drive, Bren.” Brendon swore to fucking god that that nickname would be the death of him.

“I know, but if we’re going to do this, we have to record some along the way. The pay is good.”

“You don’t get paid for studio time.”

“I know, but I’ll pay you for it.”

“Like hell you will,” Ryan rolled his eyes. “There’s no way I’m letting you pay me if you don’t get paid.”

“Come on, please?” Brendon begged. He pouted, and Ryan rolled his eyes.

“Don’t give me those eyes.”

“What eyes?” Brendon asked, still looking up at him like a puppy begging for steak.

“Bren.”

“What?”

“Come on!”

“What?”

“Oh my fucking god, fine,” Ryan sighed. “I’ll make it work you shithead.”

Brendon grinned, and Ryan rolled his eyes. “So, I started something new yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“It might be trash, but it can be reworked.”

“Let me see,” Ryan said enthusiastically, and Brendon reluctantly handed it over. Ryan glanced over the page for a moment, and then looked up at Brendon. “Shit, buddy, calm down. Do you want me to be honest?”

“Hit me with it.”

“It has potential if you squint hard enough. There are a couple chunks we can work with though and redo. Like…here, ‘And the blood that we left on the table / had me crawling away from it all.’ And this other line here, well, this whole verse really, ‘You know the tears are still coming / I know I can’t bottle them all / send me all your empty glasses / I’ll send them to you as they fall.” Ryan set down the notebook, and then reached to put his hand on top of mine but drew back.’“You have to think though, do you really want this going out to the world?”

“My pain is theirs to enjoy.”

“This is the most intense I’ve seen from you, buddy, are you okay? Is it about Sarah?”

Brendon frowned. He supposed it was, as that was part of what he had written it about, but the other inspiration came from about ten years prior, about the same boy in front of him. “Yeah. Sorry for bringing it out, I knew it was shit.”

“Hey now, be nice to the draft. We can make it work. Did you mess around with piano or guitar?”

“Piano, I have a chord progression so far, but that’s it.”

“Well, that’s a start,” Ryan said, smiling at him. Brendon gave a small smile back.


	4. What Do I Do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Warning: slight abuse_  
>  MORE SHITTY GAY SHITTLE

Brendon got to the studio thirty minutes early to warm up and talk with the band. They were all excited to meet Ryan, and I got out some of our drafts to show them. After I sang through a verse or two and showed them the idea for guitar with one piece, they were all off working through shit on their own instruments.

Ryan came in a few minutes late. He smiled when he saw me and walked over. I introduced him to the band, and he picked up one of the guitars to show things we’d already developed. I joined in on the piano part way through. Some of the guys started joining in with things they’d come up with when we got to the part I showed them, and there were a couple cringey notes, but for the most part it turned out alright.

They made basic guitar and piano demos for each song to start, and eventually they ended up in the back lounge while the others listened to the demos and tried to come up with things that worked. Brendon couldn’t help but stare at Ryan as he gulped down the entire bottle of water, couldn’t help his heart jumping when Ryan’s arm brushed against his.

He wished he didn’t feel that way. He begged God to make it stop. He didn’t want to want Ryan as badly as he used to, he didn’t want to have something he couldn’t.

“I think we’re on the right track here, Bren,” Ryan said. Brendon didn’t know how to ask him to stop calling him that, because it made his fucking heart go insane every damn time. “It’s almost a mix of Vices and Bachelor, you know?”

“Yeah, it has a good feel to it,” Brendon replied. “That song you just finished, what’s it about?”

“Oh, Chelsea.”

Brendon wished he hadn’t asked. “That’s your girlfriend, right?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d you meet?”

“She was at a club I was playing at a few years back. We’ve been together ever since.”

“That’s great, I’m really glad you found someone,” Brendon smiled. He hoped it sounded genuine.

“Me too, I wasn’t sure I would after…”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t mention it,” Ryan laughed awkwardly.

“No, it’s fine,” Brendon assured him. “A little awkward, but it doesn’t have to be. It’s in the past, you know?”

“Exactly,” Ryan agreed. “In the past.”

Brendon bit the inside of his mouth. He cursed himself for being a fucking idiot and saying anything at all. They fell into silence, and ended up listening to the guys in the studio. Occasionally one of them would comment on how good a certain thing sounded, but it was mostly quiet. Brendon found it hard to concentrate on anything other than Ryan’s arm lightly resting against his.

It was about an hour and a half into the session when the studio door busted open, revealing a fuming girl. She marched right into the room, and I saw Ryan’s jaw drop at the sight.

“Shit,” he muttered. She looked around the room and spotted him, her eyes growing dark. She marched right over to where we were and picked him up off the couch by the arm.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here? I knew you didn’t have a gig.”

“Chelse, I promise I can explain.”

“Bullshit you can explain, we’re going home,” she yelled. She looked over at me and frowned. “As for you, stay the fuck away from him. You’re poisoning him with your gay shit!”

“Chelsea, please,” Ryan begged. 

She tightened her grip on his arm. “Shut up, I’ll deal with you later.”

“Please, calm down,” Brendon begged, watching Ryan’s arm bruise under her grip. “I’m sure we can all talk reasonably.”

“No, I’m afraid we can’t. He told me he was done with this band’s crap. I hope you’re happy with yourself, you’re poisoning the nation.” Brendon looked at Ryan as she talked. He had a look in his eyes, begging him not to say anything. He hadn’t told her. “And you poisoned Ryan all those years ago. _Disgusting_. You forced him to do those things for attention.”

“I never–I swear,” Brendon stuttered. He looked into Ryan’s pleading eyes, at her grip on him. “Please, please let him go.”

“We’re leaving,” she growled at Ryan. She looked up at Brendon and spat on him before walking out, literally dragging Ryan behind her. Brendon was too frozen for a moment to try to stop her, and he cursed himself for it when he came to his senses. The band was gathered around him, trying to talk to him. He brushed off all their hands and ran to the window. Neither of them were in sight.

“What do I do?” he asked desperately, turning to all of them. “What the fuck do I do? They’re gone, they’re already gone.”

“Don’t reach out now,” Nicole said, taking a step closer and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Trust me, Brendon, you aren’t going to want to call or text while he’s around her. Wait at least a day, call when he’s most likely to be at work.”


	5. Step Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have more gay shit  
> I switched to first person because it just felt better???? might switch back????  
>  _Warning: abuse_

I was pretty sure the waiting was the worst. Everyone went home after the incident, and I couldn’t help but stare at Ryan’s contact in my phone. I couldn’t keep my mind from wandering to the worst possibilities. I couldn’t believe he ended up loving someone just like his father, after all that time of cursing him for his beliefs. Maybe he hadn’t known before it was too late.  
I couldn’t sleep. I stared at my phone in the silence of the night, eventually turned on some music. When my playlist ended, I got out of bed and went to the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass and sat on the couch. I didn’t turn on the light, it didn’t seem right. I drank in the darkness, saving the last sip for when I could see the sun start to peak up from the horizon.  
I waited until one of them was certain to be at work and called. The call rang into voice mail. I tried again two hours later and got the same response. I didn’t want to text in case she was checking his phone, and then I thought that maybe she had his phone and panicked about the calls. The thought made me instantly drop my phone, my stomach dropping to my balls. I didn’t call again.  
After not hearing from Ryan for nearly a week after, I decided I’d go to him. I had no idea exactly where he lived, or worked, or anything really, but I could find out. I picked up my phone to call Spencer, but realized it was nearly three in the morning when I unlocked it. I sighed and set it back down. I’d call first thing in the morning, and I swore to God that the second I found out where he was I’d drive my ass to Nevada and make sure he was okay.  
I dreamt about Ryan. It started off as a memory, of song writing in the cottage, scribbling lyrics and humming a tune as he laid on my chest, fingers curled through my hair. Suddenly he wasn’t there anymore, he had disappeared. I looked up in confusion and saw him across the room. When my eyes gazed over him he started screaming, and deep claw marks started to dig into his skin. He reached for me, but something held him back.  
I tried to go to him, tried to save him from the voice that started to insult him, but I was frozen in the bed. No matter what, I couldn’t move my muscles.  
I woke up to a loud noise. I looked around the room a moment, confused. My room itself was silent, but a pounding came from the other side of one of the walls. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, listening. It was coming from the next room over. I stood and walked out of my bedroom, heading towards the door across the living room. When I opened it, a body flew past me and into the room.  
“Close it!” the voice screamed from behind me, and I instantly obeyed, locking it as well. I turned to the boy who stood behind me. I gave the familiar face a horrified once over. Ryan was shaking, his face horrifically bruised and a cut down his cheek that had scabbed. The rest of his body was covered in dirty clothes.  
“What happened?” I asked, taking a step closer to him. He took a step back.  
“Nothing,” he said, turning away. He went to go sit on the couch. “It’s fine, I just… I needed somewhere to go where she couldn’t find me…”  
“Ryan, this isn’t fine,” I said, going over to the couch and sitting beside him. “Hell, this is a long fucking way from fine. She did this?”  
“It doesn’t matter, it’s not like it’s a big deal.”  
“Ryan!” I exclaimed, exasperated. “This is a big fucking deal.” Instantly the day at the coffee shop popped into my head, and I sighed. “How stupid was I to believe you were mugged? That was her too, wasn’t it?”  
Ryan shrugged. “Can I just stay here a couple days? Then I’ll go back.”  
“Why should I let you go back?”  
“Because I love her.”  
“Ry,” I started, my voice breaking.  
“No, I love her. She isn’t usually like this, she was just really mad.”  
“We both know that isn’t true-”  
“What would you know?” Ryan yelled. “I just started talking to you a few weeks ago, you know nothing!”  
“You haven’t been talking to Spencer,” I said, recalling a past conversation. “You stopped talking a couple years back, he said it was that way with Jon too.” Ryan was silent for a moment. “Those are textbook warning signs, Ryan, you know that. She separated you from everyone, played it nice, and then, what? Eight, nine months in she started doing this? Slowly, starting with little things that you could brush off as slight anger issues or accidents, and getting bigger from there? When she first started she’d apologize, and try to make it up to you, and eventually she started putting it on you, and eventually you just started to believe that it was actually your fault?”  
“Stop,” Ryan said, weakly, giving you a death worthy glare. “Shut the fuck up.”  
“Ryan,” I whispered after a second, trying to wait until he wouldn’t shut me right down again. “I know, I’ve been there.”  
“You have?” Ryan asked slowly, poking his head up from where he had hung it between his arms.  
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “And it sucks. And you think it’s your fault, and you’re all alone and have no one else to go to, and you love them so goddamn much it hurts. And you see stories in the news, but you think that you could never be like those people, because you’re happy with them, right? You love them, you must be.”  
“I _am_ happy,” Ryan said, but it came out delicate and unsure. I sighed and put my hand on his thigh. He leaned in to me, and we just sat there for a moment. “I’m sorry she yelled at you. I didn’t know she was, you know… homophobic until after. And I’m not exactly out, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her, and I didn’t think it was a big deal…”  
“Don’t worry about me,” I assured him. “I’m fine.”  
“I… I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. I looked down into his scared eyes and pulled his shuddering body closer to mine, my heart breaking for him.


End file.
